


If 6 was 9

by the_girl_with_the_pink_scarf



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Past Relationship(s), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_girl_with_the_pink_scarf/pseuds/the_girl_with_the_pink_scarf
Summary: Some things are just not easy to let go of.
Relationships: Lou Miller (Ocean's)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	If 6 was 9

A picture of a painting appeared on the screens that covered the walls, the talking amongst the people in the room halted as the auctioneer took his place at the podium in the front of the first row and said, “Lot number nine, we move to Les femmes d'Alger, version O, a wonderful masterpiece by Pablo Picasso. Previously owned by renowned art collectors and galleries, the bidding starts at one hundred million.”

The place went silent for a second, each person preparing their buyers, an undistinguishable air of competitiveness filled the room, the auctioneer’s fingers shook, and then the bidding began.

“One hundred and five million,” he said, turning his head at the left section of the room, where the sellers communicating with the buyers via telephone were.

“At one hundred and ten million. It’s at one hundred and ten –”

A young man on the right side of the room gestured and signaled at his phone, the bid was upped. “A hundred and fifteen million now.”

“One hundred and twenty million, at my right with Brett’s client.”

“Twenty-five? One hundred and twenty-five million.”

Murmuring became loud on the left side, the auctioneer leaned to hear what one of the sellers said, and with a slight chuckle, he repeated, “One hundred and twenty-six? Why not, one hundred and twenty-six million is the latest bid.”

“One hundred and thirty back on the right.”

“Thirty-eight, one hundred and thirty-eight from number forty-seven.”

“And back with Brett’s client with one hundred and forty million dollars.”

The middle of the room started to become quieter and quieter as with every new bid, the buyers that were present started to back down one by one.

“One hundred and forty-six.”

“One hundred and fifty million bid from this side, for those with clients following online, the bid is now at one hundred and fifty million.”

“We’re getting another bid at one hundred and sixty million.”

“One hundred and seventy million now.”

-

“One hundred and seventy-five million, at one hundred and seventy-five million. Will you give me one-eighty?” the auctioneer said, earning a couple of laughs from the people in the room. “One hundred and eighty million dollars. Is your client in?” The seller's hand covered his mouth as he talked to his client over the phone.

-

“At one hundred and eighty million, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for your bidding here and on the telephones to my left and right. It is with Brett’s client at one-eighty million, Pablo Picasso’s Les femmes d'Alger, selling here at Vallerie’s, one hundred and eighty million dollars is the last bid and the piece is sold.”

* * *

Las Vegas loses some of its allure at the earliest hours when the sun comes out and it shines all over the people passed out on the streets, crying in the benches that lined up the sidewalks and wandering in search of the place where their night began. But Debbie Ocean was never disappointed by the city.

She understood that it was a mirage, an endless wishing well with no power to grant the wishes of the masses that came in search of something more than just a fun weekend. A wishing well her brother had stolen the golden coins from multiple times.

Maybe he was still inside one of them, searching for more.

Getting up from the bed early was somewhat of a curse left by the lovely five years, eight months and twelve days spent in prison, and in a place where it was all about indulgence, it seemed like the most wasteful thing to be up and ready first thing in the morning. But she only had a couple of days left in Sin City so she saw no point in trying to fix that.

She had come down to visit Reuben and try to get something more out of him than just, “He didn’t want you to do this anymore and now you don’t have to.” But it was pointless, whatever he knew, it was obvious it was never leaving him and she doubted any of the others would be any different.

“Hi, I would have some toast and a bowl of fruit.”, even though she wouldn’t miss the city, she would surely miss the room service option. Cooking had never been her specialty.

“Of course, would that be all, Mrs. Beesly?”, now that was more like it.

“Yes, thank you.”

Sitting down in the armchair facing the window, she began to think about what she would do next. Searching for Danny was turning out to be a maze with no clear exit and she had already made her rounds. She had visited Lou in Los Angeles, which was one of her stops on her motorcycle road trip. Had convinced her to come to Las Vegas with her for the first few days, but just as her, she didn’t seem to find the appeal and after visiting Reuben, she left.

She also knew that Lou figured out the real reason why she had wanted to come to Vegas in the first place. Another one of those things she can’t seem to let go, but rather than telling her that, she left her to realize that on her own.

Had called Tammy as soon as she got to her hotel room, or Mrs. Leslie Beesly’s room to be more exact, and after talking her ear off about her new business, her kids and her husband, she figured she was safe and sound.

She’d get texts from Amita, all of them about how dating problems didn’t have barriers and how French guys seemingly avoid commitment just as well as American guys, but still, she was happy not only to be out of her mother’s house but across the ocean from her. And to have been near Taylor Swift at the Met Gala.

Leslie, or as she preferred to be called, Nine Ball, was also safe and enjoying her cut. She liked checking in on her too because she got a not so happy text about using her name as inspiration for the person renting the room. _Leslie_ , she thought with a soft chuckle.

Constance was easier to follow, every two days of the week, Mondays and Fridays, she would get notifications from her YouTube channel. She didn’t understand how she planned on continuing to pickpockets and be so public, but she was young. Recklessness was inevitable.

With Rose it was similar, she would appear on the news every so often, the less than great reviews for her clothing hadn’t stopped, but at least now she wasn’t in debt and with a good chance of going to prison. Although her nervousness each time she called signaled that she might feel differently, whatever that was it didn’t stop her from calling looking for encouraging words every time a particularly bad review came in.

And Daphne didn’t need to be checked in, she was the one that called more often and, according to the others, she called them just as often as well, mostly she would talk about herself or the projects that she was now financing with a couple of comments about some Penelope Stern thrown here and there. A quick search confirmed what she had suspected, an only child indeed.

All in all, they all appear to be fine and safe and enjoying their money. So why didn’t she have the same type of peace?

Whatever sort of revelation that she was supposed to have would have to wait, standing up and opening her door, she let the employee with her food come into the room. He set the small breakfast table by the window for her meal and asked if that would be all.

“Yes, thank you,” she said while giving him a generous tip. Hey, it was only fair after all the money she would save from the room.

Just as she was about to take her first bite of toast, her phone screen lights up, grumbling under her breath she noticed that it was from an unknown number.

 _If Daphne changed her cellphone again, I’m changing mine and not giving it to her_ , she thought as she accepted the call.

“Hello,” her annoyed expression melted away from her face as shock took over, the other person talked and Debbie’s expression became one of determination, a couple of minutes that felt like hours passed and she replied, “I’ll take it.” And the call ended.


End file.
